


Dessert

by sv_you_know_who_I_am



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Breast Play, F/M, NSFW, Pregnancy, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 08:29:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7969627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sv_you_know_who_I_am/pseuds/sv_you_know_who_I_am
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhys POV. Dinner in bed leads to a revelation that neither Feyre nor Rhys were expecting.</p><p>Officially my least creative title for a Feyrhys fic but it is late and my creative juices are DONE for the night. lol</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dessert

 

My mate and I collapsed in bed beside each other, the massive blankets swallowing us up as we plummeted into their depths. The silken covers enveloped us like the night, and we jostled against each other as the mattress adjusted to our sudden weight. My skin practically sparked as the skin of Feyre’s wrist brushed mine. I turned my head to look at her as she gave a dramatic sigh and threw her hand over her forehead. Her beautiful brass waves spilled over the pillows like molten ore.

She was so beautiful.

“I do not want to leave this bed again for at least fifty years,” she muttered, staring at the canopy far above us.

I chuckled in my throat. “I can accommodate that,” I said, nuzzling her shoulder with my nose. My hand caressed her thigh beneath her thin dress and marveled at the corded muscle she’d developed there. She was a weapon in silks, and her scent was beckoning to me, calling to me . . .

If only I weren’t so damn tired.

Feyre’s other hand shifted to stroke my hair and I grinned, wiggling closer to her on the bed. Just to be near her . . . that was enough.

“We’ve been at a ball all night and I hardly got any food,” Feyre complained, and I could hear her stomach give an affirmative rumble. I hadn’t thought much about my own hunger, since I had trained myself long ago to tuck away such instincts until I needed them, but I could feel it gnawing at me now.

“It’s a tragedy,” I said, sliding my body up so that I was sitting upright against the pillows and looking down at my mate. She smiled contentedly at me and I was so lost in her eyes for a moment that I forgot what I was planning to say. “I’ll call Cerridwen for food,” I murmured.

Feyre’s finger traced my jaw. “I knew I kept you around for a reason.” As her finger neared my lips I meant to nip it, but she pulled away before I could. “You’re not supposed to eat _me_ ,” she scolded, though I could see the mischief sparking in her eyes.

“But you’re my favorite dish,” I crooned, bending over to kiss her forehead. She took my face in both hands and pulled me down to kiss her properly, and I was more than happy to oblige.

“Maybe for dessert,” she whispered against my lips, and I shuddered.

I forced myself to remain composed as there was a knock on the door and I accepted a tray of food from Cerridwen. While my back was turned, Feyre had stood up with a groan and slipped out of her gown into a simple sick nightgown. Modest, but not too modest.

She looked over her shoulder and noticed my appraisal. “Like what you see, High Lord?”

“Always,” I said with a wink. She smiled and slipped under the covers.

“I thought you wanted food,” I said.

“I can eat here,” she said simply, patting the bed beside her. “Unless you’re terrified of crumbs in your bed.”

I laughed and couldn’t help the smile that crossed my face. “I could hardly call myself the High Lord of Night if I was afraid of _crumbs_.”

“What _are_ you afraid of, Rhys?” It was a game, I knew, but I could also sense a real question there. What _was_ I afraid of, now that the threats were over and Prythian was free?

I set the tray down on the table beside the bed and climbed in beside her. I slung my arm over her shoulders and tucked her close. “That this is a dream,” I murmured into her hair. “That I’m going to wake up and find out that we haven’t won, or that there’s another threat coming. That peace will be too short.”

Feyre tilted her head up and kissed my chin. I knew by that and by the bond that she understood. But still she said, “Well, _I’m_ afraid of starving to death while that good is sitting right there out of my reach.”

I chuckled, amazed that she had come to a point where she could joke about starving. It had been decades since she had lived in that hovel, decades since the war had pushed us all to our limits, but certain thing I knew neither of us would ever forget.

I used my magic to drag the tray through the air toward us, not disturbing any of its contents. It stayed there in the air, hovering above our laps. I picked up a strawberry from the bowl of fruit and held it to Feyre’s lips. She bit into it, causing red juice to drip all over my fingers and dribble on her chin. There was a clenching in my gut unrelated to food at the sight of it, but I forced myself to turn my attention to my meal and actually eat something.

We ate in silence for a while, both of us lost in our own thoughts, respectfully keeping out of one another’s minds. After a few minutes, there was a soft curse and I turned my head to Feyre, who was looking down with a very put out expression on her face.

My blood warmed when I saw that she had dribbled a glob of yogurt down her front and it was now running down between her breasts. She began to reach down with a hand to scoop it out, but quick as a flash, I took her hand in mine. “Allow me,” I murmured, using half a thought to send the near-empty tray away from the bed.

“Rhys,” she sighed, but she did not protest when I dipped my head down and licked the trail of yogurt out of the valley between her breasts. She shuddered and I allowed the desire I’d kept tightly leashed all night to float down the bond, hot and pulsing. “You missed some,” she said in a small gasp.

I grinned wickedly and used my fingers to pull the neckline of her thin-strapped nightdress lower, revealing more of the curves of her breasts. I could see and smell the wayward food on her skin, and I buried my face in her chest to pluck it out with my tongue . . . slowly.

“Thank you,” she muttered, and out of the corner of my eye I saw her fingers clutch the blanket tightly.

“Don’t thank me yet,” I said, my voice low and guttural enough that it elicited a little whimper from my mate. I had not even lifted my head yet, so I turned my face to caress the side of her breast with my tongue, lifting my hand to flick her nipple with my finger through the silk. Her spine straightened and I could feel her breathing change.

 _Yes, Feyre_ , I said down the bond. _That’s right. How would you feel about dessert now?_

I could hear her voice tight and breathless in my mind. _For you or me?_

I grinned against her skin. _Both is good_. I nipped her breast just slightly and the little choked moan she released was enough to light me ablaze. I shifted so that I was straddling her, allowing the covers to fall away from both of us. “What do you have the taste for tonight, darling?”

Feyre’s eyes were still cast to the ceiling. “Exactly what you were just doing.”

I hummed my approval. “They are particularly delectable tonight.” Slightly larger, too, if I wasn’t mistaken. I peeled Feyre’s nightdress away and caressed one breast with each hand, adoring their shape and fullness and getting intense enjoyment out of Feyre’s pleasure. She always liked when I played with her breasts, but tonight it seemed to please her particularly.

I lowered my body down so that she could feel that I was already getting hard for her, and she smiled even as she arched up to encourage my touch even more. “You’re greedy tonight,” I noted, and she laughed, completely unapologetic. I lowered my head and kissed her deeply, never moving my hands from her chest, and she was almost ravenous in her response. “I love you like this,” I gasped between our kisses. I pinched her nipples and she bit down on my lip.

It was then that I started rolling my hips against hers, and she moaned. It was a promise for later . . . dessert for us both. But I wanted my taste, first. I dragged my lips down her chin and throat, over her breasts, and began a line down her muscles torso. She writhed beneath me, hands clutching the sheets, when I reached her inner thighs. I pressed one kiss to each and then allowed myself to smell her arousal. I breathed in deep, adoring my mate’s scent . . .

. . . and stilled.

“Feyre,” I said, not removing my face from where it hovered just over her thighs.

“Rhys, why did you stop?” she asked, her voice a whine that stirred my blood but did not shake my focus.

“Feyre, you smell different,” I said.

My mate sensed my alarm down our bond and she wriggled up onto her elbows so that she could look at me. “Different how?” she asked, her brow furrowed.

“Not bad,” I said to ease her fears and my own. “But . . . you’ve never smelled like this before.” Even I couldn’t put into words the change in her aroma, how it had shifted into something _new_ and still her. “What part of your cycle are you on?” After decades together, I was well versed in how her body changed from week to week--it had helped me learn how to treat her best, what she liked most from time to time. But even her cycle wasn’t guaranteed, nor were my calculations . . .

Feyre opened her mouth to answer and then closed it again. Her brow furrowed even more, and then her eyes widened as she reached the same conclusion that I had been afraid to voice.

“I’m late,” she murmured. Her wide eyes locked onto mine and I could see my own turmoil reflected in her eyes.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t _possibly_ be.

But there was no other explanation. The change in her body, her new scent, the timing . . .

“Feyre, darling . . . I think you’re pregnant.”

Feyre sat the rest of the way up, lifting her hand to her mouth in shock. I sat back on my heels, watching her reaction carefully. My heart was thudding like a thousand Illyrians wings against the night sky, but I kept my face carefully neutral. I knew how _I_ felt about this news, but I wanted Feyre’s honest feelings . . . nothing tempered by my own response.

“I stopped taking the tonic months ago,” she murmured, more to herself than to me. “I’d stopped thinking . . . stopped thinking there was even any chance.”

“Are you all right with this?” I asked carefully, still keeping my singing heart quietly locked away. If she had stopped taking the tonic, I hoped that she was, but I would not assume anything until I heard it from her own lips.

Feyre slowly lifted her gemlike blue eyes to me, and something within me took flight as a bright, glorious smile spread across her face. “Rhys,” she gasped. “Of _course_ I’m all right with this. I . . . we’re . . . I’m going to have your child!”

Before I could blink she threw herself into my arms and I wrapped her tight, unwilling now to hold back another moment. “Our child,” I said into her ear, my voice hoarse. “ _Our_ child, darling.” We both let our thoughts soar, then, and my mind was bombarded with images of children--a little girl or a little boy, with my my hair color or hers, or her eye color or mine, running and playing and discovering magic . . . the image shifted depending on which of us controlled the mental image, but one thing never changed.

In both of our imaginations, the child had wings.

Feyre was shaking against me, and I realized she was crying just like I was. I stroked her hair, her back, everything I could reach, and then I tilted her chin up so that I could kiss her, sending every ounce of love I possessed with her into that kiss. She had broken out into that wondrous glow, and I blinked from the tears and the brightness of her. “You are magnificent,” I said, my voice tight with emotion. “Thank you . . . for honoring me with this gift.”

Feyre swallowed and blinked away her own tears. “You’ll be an amazing father, Rhys.”

I choked on the feeling that pulsed through me and clutched her close, unwilling to part from this magnificent creature in my arms.

A magnificent creature who deserved my worship.

Gently, I laid her back down on the pillows, locking eyes with her even as I drew away to lay a kiss on the skin of her belly, where our child would grow and be nurtured. Such a miracle.

The scent of her wafted up to my nose, then, and I decided that this news was far from a reason to cease our activities from earlier. And Feyre did not protest when I tasted her new scent and let it light the fire in my blood . . . guiding me through the worship of her body and into  new era of existence, where this happiness was no dream.

It was the promise of eternity.


End file.
